


something to look forward to

by preromantics



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ficlet, Fuck Or Die, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course his deathly fever’s gone, that’s what all the fucking was about in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something to look forward to

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt: _modernkids asked you: ot5 ummm fuck or die_.
> 
> Sort of experimenting with using AO3 for even smaller ficlets since I rarely crosspost directly to LJ these days.

“Your fever is gone now,” Liam says, the back of his hand sweaty and warm against Harry’s head. 

If Harry weren’t so relaxed and comfortable (the weight of Niall’s head where he’s already fallen asleep against Harry’s thigh and the way Louis is squirmed in so close that Harry is three seconds away from not being able to feel his hand notwithstanding) he would lift his head up to roll his eyes at Liam — of  _course_ his deathly fever’s gone, that’s what all the fucking was about in the first place. Instead, he sighs and rolls his shoulders back into the mattress, letting a little contented groan escape that he doesn't mean to. “And you guys didn’t believe me,” he says, somewhat quickly to cover up the noise.

“Because you ask us all to fuck you all the time, Haz,” Louis says, nuzzling under Harry’s neck, and Zayn mumbles what Harry thinks is agreement into Liam’s shoulder, “how were we supposed to know you were actually going to die if we didn’t this time?”

“Should’ve just done it t’begin with,” Harry says, still a little annoyed because he was  _dying._  He's never gotten them all at once, even if Louis is right -- he does ask all the time, and they might think he's joking but he's definitely not, it's just usually not a life or death imparitive, even if Harry sometimes thinks he's being eaten up from the inside out with how much he looks at them all and  _wants._ “If you didn't want proof we could’ve been having sex for  _hours_ instead of wasting all that time to track down those girls who put the spell on me first.”

“Hours?” Liam says, humming low in his throat and Harry almost expects him to tell him why spending hours taking turns fucking him would be impractical or not work with their schedule or be too tiresome for Harry or  _something,_ but he just follows it up with: “Maybe this weekend, if you’d like, since we’ve got all Saturday free for the most part.”

“‘m free Saturday,” Niall says, half-awake and scratchy, his mouth wet against Harry’s thigh. Harry reaches down, squirming his arm past Louis' chest, to pet at the back of his head. 

Everyone else nods or hums some sort of agreement and Harry wants to laugh or cry or reach down and see if he could take another round, even though he can feel the ache without even touching, god, “Sounds good,” he says, and if it comes out a little too overwhelmed, no one calls him on it, they all just snuggle closer. 

“Glad you’re not dead, then, if we've got this all planned out,” Louis says, nipping at Harry’s shoulder.

Harry falls asleep wondering if he’ll wake up with Louis’ teethmarks still there and faint bruises where Liam gripped his hips too hard on his first thrust in and little scratches on his back where Zayn got overwhelmed when Harry started riding him, and red indents of Niall’s gel-crisp hair where his head is still resting on Harry’s thigh. He hopes so.


End file.
